


your hand's found me

by ketabat



Series: tumblr drabbles [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bubble Bath, Coming Untouched, Gay Billy Hargrove, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 03, Touch-Starved Billy Hargrove, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:01:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ketabat/pseuds/ketabat
Summary: “You ran yourself a bubble bath?” Steve lifts a brow. “Hardcore,” he makes the sign of the horns, makes Billy huff a laugh and rest his forehead on his drawn up knees.“Fuck you, Harrington.”or, steve joins billy in a bubble bath.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: tumblr drabbles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070432
Comments: 10
Kudos: 148





	your hand's found me

It’s quiet when Steve steps into the house. Eerily quiet. Usually, he hears hushed shuffling from where Billy’s unseeingly watching TV on the couch under the rustle of three or more blankets.  
  
He’s always cold these days.  
  
Other times, he hears the clanking of pots from the kitchen, or smells the food Billy’s making in there to destress.  
  
It’s become muscle memory to sense out Billy’s state the second Steve’s stepping through the door. He’s. Become a part of Steve’s home. Before, Steve used to check the locks and turn on the plant waterers when he first got back from work. Now it’s always Billy. Billy and the heating systems. Billy and his comfort.  
  
It’s too quiet. The TV’s off and there’s no clattering from the kitchen or quiet chattering from the living room where Billy usually calls Joyce to ask for cooking tips. Steve stills as he toes his shoes off, eyes darting around. “Billy?” he asks aloud.  
  
Billy usually responds with a gruff ‘in here’ or a ‘what is it, Harrington?’. Steve gets none of it this time. He pulls his jacket off and throws it wherever before he’s scurrying around the house, pushing doors open and not bothering to pull them shut again, too panicked. Too hectic.  
  
He gets to the bathroom. Doesn’t need to look in to know Billy’s in there because he can hear the quiet burbling of water. He can hear the humming. He makes an abortive move to reach for the door handle before swinging his hand to a stop at his side, head bowed, and lips pulled into a straight line.  
  
Then he knocks. Once. Says, “Hey, you in there?”  
  
Billy stops, sniffles, clears his throat. “Yeah. Come in,” he answers a second later. “I used up your mom’s scented stuff,” he mutters when Steve steps inside.  
  
Steve smiles a little. “It’s okay.”  
  
“And the,” Billy waves a hand. “Bubbly shit.”  
  
“You ran yourself a bubble bath?” Steve lifts a brow. “Hardcore,” he makes the sign of the horns, makes Billy huff a laugh and rest his forehead on his drawn up knees.  
  
“Fuck you, Harrington.”  
  
Steve chuckles, hands braced on both doorjambs. “You need anything?” he questions casually. “I could drag the speakers in if you want—”  
  
“It’s fine,” Billy cuts in. “Thanks.”  
  
“How about a soda?” Steve pushes. “Or a book? Mom has a bunch of classics if that’s your thing. Besides the uh, _bubble baths.”  
  
_Billy snorts. “It’s fine, H.”  
  
“Alright,” Steve replies. “Um. I got a bootleg version of Top Gun. Perks of working at a video store I guess. Maybe when you’re done we could—”  
  
“Steve.”  
  
“Huh, what?”  
  
“I’m not going to drown myself in your tub,” Billy states, cheek pressed to his knee as he eyes Steve.  
  
Steve flushes red at being found out, drawing his lip into his mouth. “Yeah uh,” he ruffles the front of his hair awkwardly. “Can’t blame a guy for worrying.”  
  
A minute smile twitches Billy’s lips up. “Suicide’s an _art,_ Harrington. _Billy Hargrove, fires’ survivor, offs himself in a deluxe Harrington bubble bath,”_ he tuts his tongue. “Would reflect badly on my reputation, don’t’cha think?”  
  
Steve nods. Looks around. Then waves vaguely in Billy’s general direction. “Can I uh. Can I join you?”  
  
It feels good, eliciting _something_ in Billy other than caustic humor. Billy’s jaw clenches so tight Steve can see the throbbing muscle under stubble-ghosted skin. He shifts, nods. “Owens’ orders did say ‘round the clock surveillance, so. Be my guest.”  
  
Steve starts unbuttoning his shirt as he treads over to the hooks hanging next to Billy’s towel. He pulls it off and hangs it up, heart thudding so hard he feels his pulse in his fingertips. He pulls his jeans off next and steps out of them.  
  
There’s a beat of silence where he ponders his limits. How much space he should put between them. Then thinks _fuck it_ and climbs in _behind_ Billy. Billy looks over his shoulder, confusion lining his face. But he shifts forward so Steve can ease in. “The tub’s big enough for some personal space, Steve.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Steve doesn’t elaborate. The water’s scorching hot. He doesn’t complain either. Just places a hand on Billy’s shoulder. Billy instinctively leans back until his back’s pressed to Steve’s chest.  
  
Neither of them say anything as Steve plays with a curl at the base of Billy’s temple. “You okay?” he whispers a little while later.  
  
Billy hums, questioning.  
  
“You’re… You’re always cooped up in your room. I’m worried.”  
  
Billy swallows, shifting to stretch his legs out in front of him. “Jus’…Not used to you.”  
  
“Should be by now.”  
  
“Y’care too much,” Billy comes out with, a little breathless. He turns his head slightly, angling it just right for the hand stroking over his hair to brush his cheek. Barely.A clandestine indulgence of something he’s too embarrassed – or scared – to openly ask for.  
  
Steve never makes him ask. He breathes out from his nose, running his hand down Billy’s cheek to blindly cup his jaw. “Is it a crime?” he asks. “To care too much?”  
  
“Yeah. When you’re caring about the wrong people.”  
  
Steve’s hand travels down to the dip underneath Billy’s throat. He strokes his thumb over it, feels Billy’s breath tremble out of him. “You don’t get to be the judge of that.”  
  
Billy doesn’t say anything. Steve knows it’s because he thinks his worth’s already established and doesn’t see a point in arguing. _Let’s agree to disagree, Harrington._  
  
He eases his touch further down, over twisted, death-thickened skin. Moves his hand in soothing circles, and. Billy’s back arches up _,_ a breathless _ah_ spilling from his lips.  
  
The water feels _cold_ on Steve’s skin suddenly. He makes to remove his hand but Billy’s own flies up and grabs his wrist, pressing it down on his torso. “Don’t stop.”  
  
Steve nods, doesn’t trust his voice to say anything.  
  
“Feels good,” Billy turns his head to bury his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, just under his jaw, nuzzling his quickening pulse. “Alive,” he mutters. “S’good.”  
  
It isn’t. Sexual, Steve thinks. Just, so intimate it feels _taboo_. He keeps touching him, splays his fingers on his torso and lets Billy breathe into his skin. Lets him twine his fingers through the top of Steve’s, guiding his hand where he needs. It shouldn’t be sexual, but Steve’s starting to get hard and Billy’s breathing like Steve’s buried deep inside him, soft moans laced through contradictory, thick huffing.Cut off calls of Steve’s name and a breathless blissed out laugh.  
  
“You feel good,” Steve comments.  
  
And Billy. Billy inhales as if he’s breathing through the eye of a needle, a wrecked _fuck_ clawing up his throat as his body draws taut, mouth locked open on silence. He sags, a cry wrenching itself right from his chest as his hand clenches tight on Steve’s.  
  
He came.  
  
“Did you—” Steve exhales. “Fuck. Billy, did you just—?”  
  
Billy’s crying. Shaking and sobbing in Steve’s hold as his hand loosens on his. Makes Steve pull it out from underneath Billy’s to cradle his head to him. “Hey, hey,” he intones softly, not to _soothe_ him, but to milk his sadness dry. Draw it all out until Billy loses the spile he plugs his feelings with to stave off a _deluge_. “Don’t cry about it. T’was a good ego boost.”  
  
Billy laughs, hiccups, sniffles. “Too good to me.”  
  
“Someone’s gotta be,” Steve jokes gently. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed. You’re shivering and I’m not a fan of cum bubble baths.”  
  
Billy nods. But doesn’t move to get up. He just moves onto his side, face still buried in Steve’s neck. Steve can feel the flutter of long lashes against his skin. The goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch as it eases up and down Billy’s outer thigh. “Steve.”  
  
“Hm, yeah?”  
  
“Think I could love you.”  
  
Steve’s heart clenches, his eyes falling shut. He swallows thickly. “I—”  
  
“Don’t,” Billy murmurs. “You don’t owe me. Anything. Not the roof you put over my head or the food or the. This. Last thing I got the right to is your feelings. Just want you to know,” his throat closes up, narrowing the way for the rest of his sentence. “Jus’ want you to know that if a cold-blooded fucker like me is capable, then—”  
  
“Billy.”  
  
“Then there’s surely someone _worthy_ out there who’s—”  
  
“Billy, I love you.”  
  
Billy’s mouth closes. Steve can feel it against his neck. Can feel the breath he’d stolen from his lungs with nothing but the truth.  
  
“I. I love you,” he says again. Just to steal another.


End file.
